


The Moon Has Nothing To Be Sad About

by Fanofthebastillelife



Category: Bastille (Band)
Genre: Amputation, Dan suffering as a result of the fuck up, Did somebody say Les Mis?, FUCK, Kyle fucking up, M/M, Revolution, WOOO, Will to the rescue, Woody wondering what the fuck is going on, dyle - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-30
Updated: 2018-06-30
Packaged: 2019-05-31 11:27:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15118424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fanofthebastillelife/pseuds/Fanofthebastillelife
Summary: You won't fool the children of the revolution.





	The Moon Has Nothing To Be Sad About

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a Les Mis inspired fic, mildly modelling Kyle around Enjorlas. It contains some quite unrealistic ideas but just go with it cause it's a fic.

“It’s the revolution, baby! We’re gonna take back the county! Every man will be a king and the streets will be paved with gold!” Kyle tells his boyfriend cheerfully, lifting the green bottle to his lips and tilting his head back with a grin. They are in the pub, surrounded by fellow rebels who lap up Kyle’s words, confident that this will all work. Dan, however, Dan isn’t so sure. Yes, he wants equality, he wants his people to be given a fighting chance and to make ends meet. Fighting fate forever is awful, and if that could all stop it would be great. But this? This is a certain way to get everybody killed. “There is so much we could do, Dan! Can’t you hear the history books calling your name?”

They’re all trying to convince Dan this is a good idea. He refuses to believe it.

“Yes, and you could all also die,” Dan rolls his eyes as he wraps his hands around the cold metal of the tankard sitting on the pub table- an old door- in front of him. All attention is on him, but he won’t buckle under the pressure and agree. “It’s ridiculous. How do you expect to walk out of this alive? Those people are merciless, they will kill you without a second thought, and you know it.”

“Oh, come on, Dan!” One of their friends wraps their arm around Dan, pulling him close. “Think of how much we could change this country. Think of what would happen- what we can achieve.”

“And what we can lose! I’m not willing to let any of you die, nor die myself, for the sake of something that may not even be possible. I’m not willing to let any of you die like this.”

This is a death sentence. This is definitely a death sentence.

Dan quickly downs the rest of the cheap, watered down beer, which is all they can afford around here. His shirt hasn’t been washed in months, but there are no social pressures because nobody else’s have, neither. Every day is just a struggle to survive in their small community- hundreds of them are dying from starvation. Their friend Charlie is doing everything he can so his little brother doesn’t starve.

It’s the 1900’s now- well, only just- but everybody wants something better. Everybody wants to have a life, a better life where they don’t have to worry about making sure they can feed their families, or even themselves. They want to be happier.

The older man rises from his seat and grabs his cap from Kyle’s lap, placing it atop his head. A coin is placed on the bar top to cover for his drinks for the evening, and he heads to the door to head home. He doesn’t want to hear all of this- Kyle is basically plotting his own death. Living without Kyle is dangerous.

“I’ll be waiting at home for you, Kyle,” he shouts over his shoulder, leaving the pub. He turns the collar of his shirt up and shoves his hands in his pockets to hide from the cold, which continues to get worse and worse as Winter quickly approaches. He knows more of the people he knows will die from that, too. No one has any protection from anything. It’s scary.

“Dan!”

The familiar voice of his boyfriend follows after him, as well as the sound of feet pounding on concrete. Kyle grabs his wrist and stops him, shoving his own cap, which was previously in his hand, into his pocket.

“Look, Dan, I’m going to do this whether or not you join in, or want me to. I really believe this is the right thing to do, Dan. I really do. But I would much, much rather go into this knowing you’re on my side.” He looks seriously at Dan, straight into his eyes, hoping the man will accept his choices and join his side. This is not the case.

“No, Kyle,” he mumbles quietly, shaking his head. “I’m not happy about this at all. What if something happens to you? How do I live without you?” There’s a pause as they both just look at each other, Dan placing his hand on Kyle’s bearded cheek. “Where would I be?”

“We could change the world, Danny,” Kyle breathes, and Dan can smell his breath. Beer. “The country will be so much better, even if I’m not in it. But I’m _Kyle!_ I bend, not break. I will be fine.”

“You’re going to do it, it doesn’t matter what I say,” his cheek feels cold when Dan drops his hand, the disappointment in his voice hitting Kyle like a punch to the gut. Gently, Dan kisses Kyle, then walks away.

  


There’s smoke suffocating the air, making everybody’s field of vision much smaller. Gunpowder and fire are the only smells that the group of rebels can identify, but the taste of metal and iron in the air is prominent. In his hands, Kyle holds a rifle, and his fellow rebels have guns of similar sorts, shooting anybody sent by the royal guard to kill them and stop the battle before it gets worse. But that won’t happen. The war hangs heavy on both sides, and it’s unclear as to exactly who has the upper hand. The body count is continuously rising and Kyle sees the faces of his dead friends as he passes them, sometimes having to scramble over their bodies.

Kyle shoots the gun in his hand and hits his target square in the chest. The man is roughly his own age, Kyle notes, as he falls backwards and collapses on the dirty cobblestones. They are tinted red from the blood which flows between them, like how water should after it rains, slowly draining away.

He has cut his leg, though it’s nothing major. Blood is staining through the thin fabric of his trousers, which he knows he will never be able to get out. His mum won’t be happy about that the next time she sees him, though she is malnourished, now, too weak to be able to do his washing. He takes care of her.

The blood blends in with his red waistcoat, which is thankfully not his blood, just ref fabric.

“Kyle!” Somebody shouts loudly, through all the noise. “Behind you!”

But then there’s a numbing pain in Kyle’s head, and he’s thrown face first onto the ground, scratching his face and removing some of the skin, and then his foot hurts too. There’s a pause and a loud ringing in his head before somebody grabs the back of his shirt, turns him so he’s facing the sky, and then throws him back down, making him hit his head as well as winding him. They don’t give him time to breathe as fists and feet beat down on him, hitting his face, chest, shoulders, _everywhere._ Blood pours from him, but the royal guard are getting the upper hand so nobody can come and save him.

Then, there’s a horrible weight on his knee just before it pops and Kyle releases a sickening scream, his voice breaking as tears roll down his face. There’s so, so much pain. He can’t take it any more.

  


Dan kneels by the side of his and Kyle’s rotting old bed, trying his best to stop his shaking hands. The box beneath the bed is locked with a padlock, but, as is the norm, they lost the key a while ago, so he has opened it with bolt cutters.

Inside the box is a pistol. It’s nothing fancy, but it shoots bullets and gets the job done, so it will do. They hid it here in case either of them was ever in trouble, which means they probably should have taken better care of the key, but no mind, now. He retrieves it from the box and rises to his feet, carelessly kicking it back under the box and shoving the pistol into the waistband on his trousers, tucking his shirt around it. If he is seen with it, he will probably be arrested, if not killed, on sight.

“There’s a lot of blood,” he hears somebody say as he leaves the house, which is close to the square where this whole thing, Kyle told him, was going to happen. There are people crowding the streets to no end, but he keeps his head down and uses the cap on his head to cover his eyes. “A lot of bodies, too,”

He tries desperately to not pay attention to any of the people and what they are saying in the hopes that Kyle isn’t any of the bodies. If he is, it’ll kill him.

“I think he stopped on his knee. Look, it’s all burst, now.” One woman says, covering the eyes of her child who desperately tries to see what is going on. “Wait- is that Kyle?”

Dan lifts his head, looking at the woman dead in the eyes. He has regularly seen her looking for work and cleaning the pub on odd occasions. Her eyes are wide open and she pauses. Dan watches her to see what she says.

“It’s Kyle.”

And then, Dan can’t even control himself as his legs move forward, breaking into a sprint and barging through the crowds, careless of those around him. His shirt lifts and reveals his midriff (although people are used to seeing people thinner than people around here) as he retrieves the gun from his waistband. He holds it in his hands as the man comes into view finally, kicking Kyle repeatedly as the man lies on the floor, covered in blood and unmoving.

Boot covered in blood, the soldier moves back, just a step or two, but Dan rushes forward some more and raises the gun- the world around him has come to a crashing stop. The tension could be cut with a knife and Dan has to close his eyes once the gun is aimed- he never planned on killing anybody, but the soldier has his own gun out now, and he’s aiming it straight at Kyle’s head.

Then comes the gunshot. It’s louder than Dan expected, and once the bullied flies from the muzzle of the gun, it jerks upwards and almost flies out of Dan’s hands. The figure in front of Kyle falls limp with a scream- the soldier is alive, but not for long with the way he’s bleeding out of his chest. The crowd around Dan jump, but he couldn’t care less as he runs forward, desperate to get to his lover.

His face is broken, ripped, and bruised. His nose is bust and his lip has split open, sending blood cascading down his face and down his neck. There’s a cut on his eyebrow which causes blood to gush over his eyelid, around his nose and mouth, some even going into his mouth. Dan moves his head lightly so he doesn’t choke on it. His skin is red and sore, and his kneecap is clearly broken and pointing the wrong way. Dan can’t think of what to do as he grabs Kyle from under the armpits and drags him back towards the crowd.

“Help me,” he gasps quietly, although the desperation in his voice is clear as day. “Please, please, somebody help,”

Kyle is completely out cold as a man comes out of the crowd without a word and picks him up, not even talking to Dan as he heaves Kyle over his shoulder in a fireman’s lift. Dan follows the stranger in tears as they walk towards the pub, the man a lot calmer than his follower.

Pushing the door to the pub open, the stranger instructs Dan to clear the tankards off of the table before he lays Kyle down. He moves around quickly to get everything he needs- alcohol, bandages, and a needle and thread from the land lady’s sowing box.

Dan watches him as he stands by his boyfriend, using his hands to wipe away the blood. “Is he going to be okay?” He stutters, before clutching Kyle’s hand.

“I don’t know,” the man replies solemnly, his voice soft and quiet. He walks over to Kyle and takes off his neckerchief, using it to wipe the blood properly from his face. Without all the blood, both men see a cut across the bridge of his nose. The man gently prods at it to try and ease the bleeding.

As he works, the injured man’s eyes begin to move from beneath his eyelids, and he slowly comes round into consciousness.

The stranger glances at Kyle’s eyes as they open, red and sore, taking a few moments to register what is happening.

“Well, it’s going to hurt a lot more now he is awake.” He mumbles, looking down to the man’s knee as he groans in pain.

“Kyle,” Dan moves so he is stood by Kyle’s head and puts his hand on his cheek. “You’re a fucking idiot. How are you feeling?”

The wounded man just groans again, more pain ridden this time, and lifts his head to wipe his face clear of blood, although the stranger moves his hand back down to his side, where it was..

“I didn’t think you’d come,” he mumbles, speech mildly stifled and broken due to the tear in his lip. “Not when the fight was so tight.”

He’s staring directly at Dan, who shakes his head and frowns. “Be glad I did. He almost beat you to death. You’re a mess, Ky. There’s blood every where.”

“I’m fine.” He says, trying to move, starting with the good leg. The pained look in his eye tells everyone that he is lying, but Kyle doesn’t want to admit how much pain he is in. Everything hurts so, so bad. “Don’t worry ‘bout me. Don’t break, bend.”

“Eh, your kneecap and nose are broken so I don’t think that’s right.” The man by his knee says, but Kyle has to close his eyes because everything is getting too overwhelming for him. He feels sick and light-headed and he just wants to sleep. “This is going to hurt, okay?”

“More pain?” Kyle whispers to himself, his voice weak. Dan hears him but doesn’t comment.

The stranger grabs some of the whisky he bought over with him and moves to Kyle’s face, pouring a little bit over his nose to clean it. Kyle yells in pain, trying to push the man away from him, but everything hurts so much.

“Fuck!” Kyle gasps before coughing harshly, almost throwing up on himself. He knows they are doing this to help him but it hurts so much- and yes, alcohol does help clean wounds, but good lord that was horrible. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”

“Look, that’s a lot better,” the stranger attempts to reassure Kyle, but the man has passed out again. “Well, that’s also a lot better.”

  


After a while, the man has stitched up the gashes on Kyle’s face (“They probably won’t last too long, but hopefully they’ll be fine for a little while,” he had said, “If they do come out just make sure he doesn’t pick at it.”), and now stands by his kneecap, the only thing left to sort out.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he admits to Dan, who has cut Kyle’s trouser leg from the thigh downwards so they can see the mess that is his kneecap. “It’s just… I’ve never seen a knee this bad before. I don’t think we can do anything.”

“So, what, then? We just leave it?” Dan asks because he can’t imagine any other way of getting around a broken, or shattered, kneecap.

“Well, we can’t just leave it smashed open like that. I-I don’t know,” there’s a pause, “Unless we just…”

The man, who still hasn’t introduced himself to Dan despite the fact he is still covered in Kyle’s blood, makes a chopping motion just above Kyle’s knee.

“You’re not cutting his fucking leg off,” Dan hisses, frowning. “No! How will he walk?”

“How will he walk regardless of if he has his leg or not? Look at it, it’s in a thousand different pieces. It’s nineteen-hundred, there’s nothing that can fix this.”

“What if he gets an infection? Or, or _dies_ from blood loss?”

“Well, both could happen either way. Look at him, mate. It’s either keep him this way or just get rid of the leg entirely.”

The door to the pub bursts open, and in a sickening flash of fear, Dan thinks it may be the guards coming to get all three of them- but it’s just Woody, their friend.

“Cooper told me what happened,” he says, shutting the door and barricading it behind him so nobody can get it. “How is he?”

And he looks at the face of Dan, white and slowly getting tear stained from the tears none of them had noticed, and then Kyle, lying almost dead on the table with blood pouring from his knee, and the stranger.

“Who the fuck are you?” He asks, beginning to get defensive.

“Woody- he’s helping Kyle,” Dan says quickly to stop any tensions rising. “Kyle’s really, really hurt.”

“My name is Will,” he says calmly, then turns to look at the other man’s knee. “We’re trying to figure out if it would be best to cut, er, _Kyle’s_ leg off or keep it the way it is.”

“I don’t know where you come from but you can’t just really _cut people’s legs off,”_ Woody walks over and looks at Kyle’s shattered knee. He winces at the sight of it. “How the Hell are we going to fix that?”

“We can’t,” Will says, “No way that I can think of, anyway.”

“Fuck. This is bad.”

“Look, if we’re going to cut his leg off, we better do it whilst he’s passed out,”

Kyle’s skin is getting paler by the second, and they know they don’t have much time left before eventually, he won’t wake up at all. All things considered, it does look like the only option is to remove his leg.

Dan fumbles with his belt to take it off, strapping it around the middle of his lover's leg and cutting off the blood supply. Woody goes into the kitchen of the pub to get a meat cleaver because nothing in the room would be useful enough. He quickly rinses it under the tap, although the water is about as trustworthy as the ground so he’s not sure why. He hands it to Will, who doesn’t look too confident about this.

The man’s lover is full on crying, now, sat at one of the empty chairs at the empty table, his head in hands. Woody sits next to him, and from his spot next to Kyle, Will watches.

“Look, Dan. There is a very big risk that Kyle may not wake up from this. Those chances are significantly increased if we get rid of his leg because there is no way that would stop bleeding, or would ever be useful ever again. Okay? He wouldn’t be able to do anything. Now, at least he will have some sort of life.”

“Do you really want to be in here for this?” Will asks, rolling the sleeves of his shirt up. He’s already covered in blood, so it doesn’t really matter.

“Yeah- come on, Dan, you go and find Cooper and stay with him and we’ll look after Kyle, okay?”

Teary eyed, fearing for his lover’s life, Dan rises and walks to the door, which Woody removes the barricade from, and disappears into the streets.

“I don’t know how much this will help,” the man by Kyle admits, picking up the meat cleaver as Woody joins his side.

“A lot more than leaving it in that mess.”

“I’m scared.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“Count of three?”

“Yeah.”

“One.”

“Two.”

“Three.”

  


  


It’s a Summers day and it feels like everything is better than it was. Dan is lying on Kyle’s chest, the man’s arm wrapped around him as he lies on his back, eyes closed but both of them awake, their bodies bathing in the warm sunlight streaming in through the window.

“You scared me,” Dan admits quietly, being the first to speak. He went to see Cooper when they told him to and sat there crying with all of his friends in fear that they would never see Kyle walking and talking again.

But, a few hours later, Woody popped by and told them the news: he’s alive- barely, but alive- and is crying and wants to see Dan. From that moment, Will was automatically one of their group. He had saved Kyle’s life when nobody could, twisting and transforming the man so he could still be alive today.

“I know I did,” Kyle whispers back, squeezing Dan’s upper arm. He remembered waking up, bleary eyed and looking for his lover. He couldn’t feel his leg, obviously, and he just felt so _weak._ “I’m sorry.”

Honestly, Kyle didn’t really care that he now only had one leg instead of two. He knew it was to save his life and, in reality, he is thankful that they did it. However, he has been banned from saying ‘I bend, not break’. That annoyed him.

But he’s still alive. He still has Dan.

“I ruined my favourite waistcoat, though.” The man laughs, the same grin appearing on his face that Dan adores, especially after he has said something stupid. “It was already red, then it was covered in cuts and stuff. More red.”

“You were red,” there was blood everywhere for weeks after. Most of it was the blood of their fallen friends, some of the guards who got sent to do a job and never returned back to their wives, their families.

This country fucking sucks.

“We should leave, you know? Somewhere better, somewhere that’s not here.”

“We can’t afford that. We can’t even afford bread.”

“There’s got to be something better, though, Kyle,” somewhere where they do not have to fight for their human rights, somewhere where they can get work. _Somewhere, somewhere, somewhere. Somewhere else._

“There’s always something better. You could be the happiest man on earth and want more. It’s human nature.” Kyle looks at Dan as he leans up, looking back at him. Dan runs his hand through Kyle’s hair, then down his cheek. “And I’m my happiest when I’m with you.”

“But you want more?”

“Always. I want our own house- not a shit one like this-, I want to treat you, I want us to _eat.._ We always want more than what we can give. I want _you_ to be happy.”

Dan just watches him with those calm, observant eyes, then smiles.   
“I am happy.” He says. “I’m always happy when I’m with you.”

“Who, Pirate Simmons?” Kyle laughs, and Dan puts his forehead on Kyle’s chest with a smile, and listens. “Hey, it’s still beating, Babe. Don’t you worry about that.”

“I’m so _lucky_ you’re still here,”

“With a peg leg boyfriend- what more could you want?”

Dan then looks up at Kyle again. “A one legged Kyle is better than no Kyle.”

“Touché.”

And Dan leans up and kisses Kyle, passionately, not as if their life depended on it. Just knowing that from now on, it is them, and only them. No more fighting, No more revolution.

Just them.

  



End file.
